Brothers, Wes and Scottie Townsend, formed their band 'Edge' seven years ago. At the top of the alternative scene, they're enjoying the perks of their success. Well, Wes had been, up until he spots a gorgeous fan he can't seem to take his eyes off of. Wes has always known that he prefers men, but everyone including his brother is none the wiser. And he's never indulged with a fan. Ever. Until him. After one passionate night with Micah Jameson, Wes' closet status is in jeopardy. Will he open his heart and risk all that's he's built, or will he bury himself in lies and deny a once in a lifetime chance at true happiness?
CONTENT ADVISORY: This story contains both MM and MF sexual situations.
It took all we had
Everything in us
To bite back the horror
To win the war
On the edge
Fighting insanity, cheating death
We had to sacrifice.
Tainted, but still whole
We escaped the brink...
"Edge! Edge! Edge!" the crowd chants in a unified alliance. Grounding out my cigarette, I push the polyester curtain aside, leading us into a maelstrom of unquestionably crazy-assed teens. One might suppose we'd jumped on stage when a roar ripples through the young mob, instead of merely making a typical appearance at our merch tent to sign a few autographs after a totally sick performance. The attention span of kids these days compares to a gnat at a fruit market, so to ensure their devotion doesn't drift, we tour more than half of the year and show up at our merchandise tent after each set. Adrenaline still bursting through our veins in massive doses, Scottie climbs onto the merch table with the assistance of a rickety fold-out chair. Staggering for balance, he greets the fans with dual devil horns, encouraging the chaos to ramp a notch. Scottie, my little brother and Edge's lead guitarist, permits the squealing youths to attack him, grappling mercilessly at his leopard-print spandex while he laughs, protecting his crotch from the more aggressive ones. When Scottie looks down at me, his crooked smile is genuine and contagious. He digs this shit, maybe even more than the rest of us put together. He motions behind him, and I take my place, prepared for whatever mischief he's up to. When his arms stretch out at his sides, I know even before he starts the 'trust fall' that I'm his spotter. Who else can he count on to stand behind him--in front of him, to catch him whenever he falls? Once upright, he spins around and embraces me. The smell of a whiskey-soaked cigar slaps me in the face, and I pull back, disgusted. "You're rank, bro." No offense taken. He thinks it's hilarious, clutching his stomach while he laughs, his face red from lack of oxygen. Scottie pulls himself together and yells a "fuck yeah!" into the crowd. Opening his arms wide, he urges the mass to move in closer, to surround him. Needy for attention, he's in his element, flirty and hospitable to everyone who approaches him. Scanning the crowd this evening, I see the usual expressions of joy, adoration, and appreciation filling the faces of our fans. They idolize us. It's a high, for sure, and although we aren't as exuberant as Scottie, we still eat this shit up. It becomes an addiction that we feed off, live for, need to survive. When Scottie and I formed the band nearly seven years ago, we couldn't have imagined that Edge would have taken the Alternative scene by storm in four short, amazing years, or that we'd eventually attain the success we'd only dreamed of. But it hadn't come easily, we'd worked hard to get where we are. We had doors slammed in our faces, were told 'no' countless times, but we kept fighting until we'd received the break that led us to where we are today. The current tour we're traveling consists of forty bands and five headliners, us being one of the latter. The four-month gig spans twenty-seven states in the US and three provinces in Canada, but for me, it's been these last couple of shows that have proven to be the most interesting of them all. Everyone within eyesight wears Edge T-shirts displayed with our various designs--some colorful and lighthearted, others dark and sinister. Scottie and I picked the name Edge because we wanted something simple, but significant. It reminds us daily of how close we once came to the edge. Even after so many years have passed, the familiar chill still spirals down my spine when I reflect on our hellish past, but now isn't the time or place for reminiscing. Peering at my only sibling and cohort, I can't help but shake my head. Jesus. We haven't even signed the first autograph, and Scottie already has his hands full with a couple of girls, raring to go. Sex, booze, and rock-n-roll. Cliché maybe, but that's us. We don't pretend to be anything more. We take our music seriously, but we aren't martyrs to it. We thoroughly enjoy the perks our success harvests. But right now, there's a job to do.